The Suitcase
by fEmAleNoMad
Summary: Prompt from Capkink: Howard and Peggy look through Steve's belongings and claim meaning to them.
1. Chapter 1

This was taken from a prompt at Capkink:

"When Steve was declared dead, Howard and Peggy were the ones to go through his things, and divided them up for mementos. What sort of meager possessions did he have, and what did each decide to keep? What particular memories do they evoke?"

Captain America belongs to Marvel, though technically we all have some share in America.

"Any luck?" asked Peggy as Howard emerged from the sub. She tried to sound casual, but by this point she was pleading. She was waiting there, as usual- looking behind Howard half expecting to see Steve climb out with the equipment.

Howard shook his head. It was now close to two months since Steve's "disappearance," but he still thought he could find him...he just needed the right coordinates.

Even if they found him, he would probably be dead...

No. Of course not, this was goddamn Captain America! He wouldn't die on them.

"We'll find him Peggy. What's that?" he could see she was discreetly trying to hide a battered leather suitcase, though he could still see it behind her red high heels.

"Steve's bunk has been cleared out-space is limited..." She picked up the suitcase "I nicked what I could before they could throw it away."

"Are you going to open it?"

"No. Even though he's not here, we should at least respect his privacy."

"It's killing you just as much to know what's inside isn't it?"

She stared at the unimposing buckled box for a second. "Maybe just a peek."

It didn't take long for them to figure out the combination.

"July 4th?" Howard chuckled. "Even for Captain America that's a bit hokey."

"It's his birthday." grumbled Peggy. After a faint click, the lock came undone. They looked at each other nervously for a moment.

"Peggy, if you don't want to do this..."

"No, Howard. I think I...I think we need this."

"I don't know what you mean." Howard gripped the lock and averted his gaze.

"Don't get so defensive Howard. Steve brought out something in you I've never seen before. He was the greatest friend anyone could have, and you don't have to be ashamed to admit it."

"Yes," nodded Howard sadly. "My friend." He put an added emphasis on the word. Peggy knew this was a big step for him, he had very few real friends.

"Well, let's see what's under the hood." Howard opened the suitcase with a flourish.

It seemed like the world could fit in here. There were clothes, of course. His captain's uniform, his fatigues from training, the lone suit and suspenders and the leftover pair of worn leather shoes twice patched, but frequently shined.

There was a bottle of cologne. Two dollar stuff in a brown glass bottle that smelled like leather and sage. A razor, and a handkercheif lightly monogramed in blue.

There were pamphlets and posters from the touring days. Postcards from Denver to Chicago, tied up in a string, neatly addressed but never mailed. Many of them were for Barnes, but the surprising majority usually began, "Dear Peggy." These letters ended with a "love" and some post-script. There was one for Howard from Michigan, but Steve probably didn't know his address, or forgot along the way. It wasn't finished, but it looked like the bottom part had been erased over multiple times.

And there were pencils. Pencils of all shapes and sizes, HB, 2B, 4B, thick erasers crumbling along the edges, grey-black from frequent use. And pencil shavings. Plenty of pencil shavings. And a beaten-up sketchbook full of doodles, landscapes, and an almost life-like portrait of Peggy, arms crossed.

"You think someone as neat as Steve could have been a bit tidied with his things." remarked Howard.

Then again, he did need somewhere to keep his thoughts. Somewhere where he was just Steve again.

"I suppose I'll take the letters addressed to me, and the sketchbook." Howard could see she was trying to maintain that stiff upper lip, but her resolve was beginning to fail as soon as she mentioned the sketchbook.

"And I guess he wouldn't mind if I took my postcard." He looked it over and chuckled, "Always did like the Motor City."

"What do you think we should do with the clothes and the toiletries? I suppose you could keep the razor, I have no use for it."

"You could keep the cologne."

"It's hardly my scent." Humor. At least she was coping.

There was a pause as Howard ran his hand over the arm of Steve's jacket.

"You could keep it," offered Peggy, "I'll take the rest of his clothes."

"I'd rather have the pencils." mused Howard.

"Then take both. Do you think you could forward Barnes' letters to his next of kin?" Howard knew the silent excuse of 'I would, but I'd rather be alone and have a good cry' was attached somewhere at the end. He had never seen her emotions shine through so visibly before. Windows to the soul indeed.

"Sure. Get some sleep Peggy, I'll see you in the morning."

He never did forward those letters. He kept every single one along with the beaten up postcard addressed to him, the pencils he wore down to the nibs designing bombs, and that blasted suitcase which he later took from Peggy's office before she transferred to MI6. The battered up suitcase that held a photo hidden in the seems, of Steve.


	2. Chapter 2

Set during Iron Man 2. Semi spoilers ahead if you haven't seen it yet.

Tony had to admit, he did have his work cut out for him. Mr. Stiff from Shield was watching over him like a hawk (as if it made a difference, he's Iron Man, right?) and Tony was already beginning to feel a bit winded from opening that damn box.

Maybe he should check his blood toxicity. 37%. Could be worse, but it's still pretty bad.

Tony shuffled through the items on the box- a suitcase full of papers, a canister of film, some old blueprints. Tony took the papers out of the suitcase and threw it back in the box. He then set up the reel on the projector looked through the notes. Somehow, almost half a century before Tony's rise to superhero notoriety and slow death by irony, the great Howard Stark discovered a new element and hid it for Tony to find.

Typical Dad. Now he'd probably owe him for the Deus Ex Machina (somehow, he didn't just give anything away for free.)

The Expo Model. Of course he'd put the atomic structure in the place least expected. There was a lot he didn't know about his father, but this did seem very Howard Stark.

"And not a moment too soon, my arms are getting tired." Seriously, how heavy could some plaster and tiny plastic tents be? He should probably spend more time in the gym. Or maybe it the blood toxicity. Yeah, it's probably that.

As he set the model onto his work table, he knocked over the box of his father's things. The leather suitcase burst open and spilled out it's papers. Sighing, Tony stuffed the papers back in.

Much to his surprise, there was a photograph of a man underneath the stack.

He was handsome. Tall, blond, blue eyes, a nice smile- and he certainly looked good in his captain's uniform. Probably he was one of his father's friends from the war.

Tony looked at the back to see if there was any identification. All he saw was a weak pencilling of STEVE in someone's handwriting. The name sounded familiar, but Tony couldn't remember where he heard it before.

He briefly remembered finding a worn postcard on his father's desk. Faded, beautiful and dog-eared. Lauding the glories of the motor city with it's picture of towering monoliths of green-blue skyscrapers and disemboweled mechanic bodies. He remembered his tiny hand grabbing the paper world, and his father snatching it away, telling him not to go through other people's things...

It said: Love, Steve.

Tony put the picture by his computer.

"Well, there are more important things to worry about now." He'll deal with Shield later.


End file.
